Violence, Grace, and Truth
by Kicollette
Summary: Whenever Sandor gets drunk enough to talk about the many mysterious disapperances at Clegane Keep, he always finishes with "...and a sister that I don't remember." The Hound can't mourn what he can't remember, by the mercy of the Seven. Maybe it is better that he never knew what happened before he and Gregor were born, that set all other tragedies in motion.


The Reynes of Castamere were older than the Tarbecks and nearly as rich as the Lannisters. They were the finest family in the Westerlands, most said, especially the Reynes themselves. They were lavish in their displays of wealth but named their children after intangible things, as if to prove they were above money. The church might have called that sacrilegious, except that the Reynes were exceedingly generous in their donations.

Courage Reyne, the Red Lion, was head of the family. Poetry was his oldest son and heir. Courage wanted Genna Lannister's hand in marriage to Poe, as his firstborn was affectionately called. To see the girl given over to a Frey instead was unbearable. Poe tried to calm his father, said it did not matter. He thought Genna a lovely creature, but Poe had an eye for Genna's cousin, Joanna. She was well-read, and had inner beauty to match. Soon after the initial disappointment, Courage learned that Joanna was promised to her cousin Tywin Lannister.

"Either they keep the girls in the family or marry them far below their station just to keep other good families down." Courage grumbled.

Piety Reyne was his oldest daughter. A great beauty at fifteen, she was tall and slender, with honey-colored hair and golden brown eyes. Son Steadfast was thirteen and squired for his brother Poetry. Twin nine-year-old girls, Melody and Harmony, completed the immediate family.

Courage had set aside a great dowry for Piety, and made no secret about it. Tytos Lannister made inquiries for her hand on behalf of his poor relations, rather than one of his own sons. Courage was insulted yet again.

His three daughters would stay within the Reyne and Tarbeck families, Courage told Tytos. And since no appropriate Lannister girls had been made available, Poetry and Steadfast would look elsewhere, too.

The Tarbecks, cousins to Courage's wife, shared his sentiments. They pushed Tytos' limits and found them yielding. Why not push further and be rid of Lannister rule? The three families were equals at the least, so if two of them joined, the Lannisters would have to adjust to a new order in the Westerlands. Tarbecks had men of good fighting stock. The Reynes had fewer knights, but of the best quality and plenty of money to supply a long fight. They did not think the fight would be long, though.

The tide turned when Tywin Lannister took over command. They knew Tywin was stronger than his father Tytos, but he had been so young, they did not think he could outfox them. Tywin put all of his efforts south, against the Tarbecks. The Reynes rushed troops to help, but the Iron Islanders took advantage of the situation. Young Balon Greyjoy made a move on Castamere's mines, just as Tywin thought he would. The Ironborn were repelled, but at a cost, and the Reynes were spread too thin over too much land.

The Tarbeck's fell hard. Lady Ellyn Tarbeck's body was left buried in the ruins of her castle. Reyne banner men fell like dominoes as Tywin turned his undivided attention north. Tywin offered terms to Courage, terrible terms. Heavy taxation. Marriage contracts on all the girls, not just Courage's own daughters, but also his nieces would be sold hither and yon to Freys, Greyjoys, or worse. Poetry to the Kings guard. Steadfast and two beloved nephews would take the Black. Courage would have no grandchildren bearing the name Reyne.

"But you will have grandchildren, if you take my terms." Tywin Lannister warned.

Courage tried to deal with Tywin, "Tis your father's woman that brought us to this."

There was plenty of blame to go around, but that was the name Tywin most despised.

"Look what she arranged for Genna, your own sister. Do you expect me to let her sell my daughters as well? What about your own daughter? What does your father's mistress have in mind for Cersei? If I knew the girls would be treated fair..."

Tywin almost reconsidered his terms. Almost. Courage counterattacked while Tywin thought. Tywin steeled himself, angry that he had been weak. There would not be a single Reyne left alive when he was done.

(*********)

Courage had been in the vanguard when the forces of Tywin Lannister struck Castamere Keep. He died valiantly, true to his name, followed quickly by Poetry. His dear younger brother, Logic, dragged poor Steadfast away to the inner Keep, to join his mother and sisters. Logic and a few faithful knights held the doors while all of the relatives, household retainers, and the wives and children of the knights raced up to the tower, where they could look at the carnage below. The Reynes were finished. What level of mercy would they be shown?

Piety could not look away. The bodies of the men were defiled in ways her innocent young mind never thought possible. The middle Keep fell and they could hear the screams of women and children from the countryside that had come to her father for protection. Courage had failed them all.

The men and her mother talked quickly. Mother took off all of her fine jewelry, tore her hair and clothes in mourning, and waited on her knees to beg for the lives of those who remained. The others fell to their knees behind her, even Steadfast. Piety could not tear herself away from the windows.

When the Lannister men stormed through the last door, there was no chance to even beg. Her mother was run through with a sword before she could utter a word. Piety saw the men's eyes - they were mad with bloodlust. She prayed to the Stranger, "_Make me a bird._" and ran to an open window. _Either I shall fly away, or I will take the mercy of a quick death_. She jumped.

In her panic, she chose the wrong window. She landed not twelve feet below, on a thick canvas awning. Dazed and winded, she wondered if she now had wings. She did not. She began to crawl to the edge of the awning. It was still a far enough drop to kill her. But then someone else dropped from the window above.

(*******)

Piety looked at the rising sun through swollen eyes. The screaming above had stopped. All of her family was dead. The laughing and grunting hadn't stopped, so Lannister men were still punishing the lifeless bodies.

The soldier beside her would not stop talking, "May the Maiden forgive me. I am sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." He'd had the same hellish look in his eyes as the other men when he jumped after her. He was perhaps more crazed than the rest, because he had jumped to what should have been certain death just for a chance to catch his prey. He had beaten and raped her on that awning throughout the night, just as all the Lannister men did with whatever they could grasp. Now, the sunlight seemed to have washed the evil from his eyes. He tried to get her to drink water from his flask. She could not swallow. Could not move. The pain was unbearable.

The soldier looked over the awning, and called to someone below. Piety heard a ladder scrape against rock. The soldier cut a piece of awning, wrapped her up, and flung her over his shoulder. He was big man, bigger than any knight in her father's lands. He carried her effortlessly and scurried down the ladder.

"No, no!" his friend protested. "Not a wench! Orders are nothing comes out of here alive!"

"She will. Do you have a cart?"

"Got four."

He was among a group of common soldiers, but even they had their spoils. He and his men were loading food - they had raided a corn bin, a root cellar, and a smoke house. Others would be taking weapons from the forge, fine furnishings, or tapestries depending on their rank. The knights would have the jewels they stripped from the high born. Tywin Lannister would take all of the gold and diamonds. All knew what was theirs, and dared not touch anything above their station. Prisoners were usually doled out by rank as well, to be held for ransom or to earn their freedom by laboring in the fields if they were small folk. But there would be no prisoners - no survivors and no one to pay ransom if there had been. Every man, woman and child had died. All but Piety. The soldier found a large sack and put her in it, and loaded her on a cart next to what smelled like a sack of potatoes. They rode past the guards, somehow.

The cart ride was long, it seemed endless. She imagined that she had died, and this was the ride between the First Hell and the Second, which would be much, much worse.

She heard the horses, and the men's voices. The soldier was the leader of the group, for when he raised his voice, the others stopped chatting, or changed direction.

They stopped to rest and eat. It was mid day, she reckoned.

The soldier picked her up off the cart, still sacked, and carried her like she was so much laundry. She heard water, and knew a stream was near.

The sack came off, and she was blinded by the sunlight.

"Here.", he said gently, and gave her water in a cup, collected from the stream. She was so thirsty, she tried to swallow. This time it went down. He kept the cup to her mouth until it was all gone, then got her another one.

"You need to clean up, and throw away those clothes." he said.

She did not resist when he cut off the last ragged bits of her gown. He took off her jewelry - pearl necklace, gold and ivory bangles, a carved amber ring and her silver filigree girdle set with rubies. He put them in a leather bag, and handed her soap. At least she thought it was soap, but unlike any she had used before. It was rough cut and smelled not much better than the soldier. He picked her up and set her in the stream. The cold water shocked at first, and then felt good on her bruised body.

He sat on the bank and watched her as he cut the gold buckles off of her shoes, then tossed the shoes far in the water. He inspected pieces of her gown, tore off the sewn pearls with his teeth and spit them into the bag as well, before putting all the fabric under a rock, out of sight.

Piety cleaned off the blood as best she could.

"Come out now, please." he said.

He had managed to take a cheap shift of a dress on the way out, and he put it on her, though she was still wet. He had a long strip of cloth that he wrapped her wet hair in, and twisted it around her head.

"Your name is Glynnia, and you are a seamstress. _Glynnia._ Can you say that?"

She could not. He picked her up and carried her back to the cart.

The men were silent when they approached, eating mid meal quietly by the fire. Someone handed him food and he took it once he set Piety down.

"Still summer, and going to be a mild autumn. You did good getting that seed corn, Mycah. We can bring in a worthy crop from it." the big soldier spoke. It seemed to ease the tension, and they all started talking. No one talked about what they had done and seen only hours ago. They talked about their plans, how far they would travel that day, how hard they should press the horses, and what they would do when they got home. Castamere was nothing to them.

The soldier brought her a bowl of broth, and held it to her mouth to drink. She did, a bit, just to make him go away sooner. He put her back in her dirty, blood-stained sack and placed her on the cart. They were on their way again.

(******)

The men stopped suddenly. The soldier took her out of the sack and Piety whimpered when she saw it was now nightfall.

"Don't be afraid." he whispered. He gave her water and carried her to the woods. She thought he meant that she should relieve herself but she could not, not with a man watching. He guessed the reason for her shyness and turned away.

He carried her back to where the men had set up camp. She ate a bit - the soldier soaked bread in broth for her at dinner. He had a gentle touch. Was this the same man as last night? Why should he be, she reckoned. She was not the same girl and never would be again.

(*****)

Three more days travel and they were near his home. The soldier took off her sack - they were far enough away from Castamere to let her be seen with them.

She kept her eyes to the ground until they approached their destination in the foothills - a keep, small but well built and practical. Bells rang when the procession of soldiers was sighted. Servants and families rushed out to great them. The carts were brought inside the keep, before a one-legged older man. The old man was big and gruff, but sincere when he praised the Gods for returning the men alive with only a few lightly wounded.

"I found a seamstress on the road." the big soldier said, "She needs employ."

"On the road, you say?"

"Yes. Picked her up this morning, on our way home."

The other soldiers nodded and the old man asked no further questions.

Some men lived at the keep, but others had farms or mills or mines to get back to. They parted with many blessings and thanks and gifts from the spoils. The servants tended to the rest of the goods, and took the horses to the stables.

Piety then realized that the soldier was a knight - his enormous armor was on one of the carts. He had worn light brigandine like his men during the close quarter fighting. He must be the old man's son. They had the same black eyes. They were dark as Dornishmen, but Dornishmen did not come that tall and broad, she knew.

The soldier beckoned Piety to follow him inside, and she did. Her muscles were still bruised, and stiff from the long cart ride, but she did not want him to think he had to pick her up again. She trailed behind them, taking in her surroundings. Their banner was yellow, with three black dogs. She did not know this House.

Only once they were inside did the old man show his anger at what his son and the men had brought back.

"You squired for Tytos Lannister. We brought good men to the fight. They should have given you better than a common soldier. Not even a hedge knight's share, and here you are a banner man. If his son Tywin is going to treat you like a sell-sword, he had best pay you like one!"

"I paid myself." The soldier poured the contents of the leather bag onto his father's table. "Better than I had any right to..." he swallowed hard and did not look his father in the eyes, "... because Tywin Lannister did give House Clegane 1,000 acres more land to the south. The lads took all that seed because we knew we'd be planting, and that would be our gold come winter."

The old man was pleased after all. His son came back with far more than expected.

"Who gets your seamstress tonight?" he asked.

"No one. She's not for sharing. She's a good girl. We'll take care of her, and put her to work when she is better."

(******)

The soldier put Piety in the care of an older woman, a scullery. The maid was not kind - threw some fabric at Piety in the morning and said, "Make yourself a dress, seamstress, or go naked."

The soldier had guessed right about Piety's skills. He figured girls like her knew how to embroider, and that was close enough. She had learned to sew practical things those last months of the war, when Castamere was stacked thick with refugees and all able bodied women and girls were cooking and sewing and washing, even her own mother.

She made herself a simple dress, and quickly. The maid gave her other tasks, mostly mending. Piety did as she was bid and did not speak.

The soldier checked on her often. "No one bothers you? I told none to lay a hand on you."

She nodded that she was fine.

She looked thin. He rightly guessed that no one was making her eat, not even offering her food since she was not asking. He sat with her then, morning and evening meal in the kitchen with the other household servants. He was working too much to see her for midday meal, but he got enough food in her.

Her cuts and bruises and sprains healed, nothing was broken. She never looked at herself, so she did not know she was beautiful again.

The senior seamstress took her from the maid, after she had proven herself.

"Thought you was just a camp slut, but you've had training."

No one thought she was high born, since she was too timid to look any of them in the eye. She was not trying to hide herself, it was just how she felt.

She sewed shirts and trousers for the old man, a widower, and his son, the soldier. She could not bear to think of him as a knight. She knew what true knights were.

The soldier got her to talk a little, say her new name, Glynnia, and ask for things when she needed them. He ordered the seamstress to take her outside, in the sunlight.

The seamstress asked if Piety knew how to dye cloth. She did not. The older woman took her out to gather berries and flowers to make yellow, red and purple. The older woman started to be kind, offering to ask around for her family among the refugees that were slowly coming out of the mountains. Piety said she was sure they were dead. No one was looking for her, and she had no one to look for.

Piety stopped eating again. She knew the protective numbness around her was lifting because she was finally able to cry a bit. The pain of her loss was also making her physically sick, or so she thought. The older seamstress knew better.

"Poor little Glynnia is with child." she told the old man. They shared a bed a few nights a month, when mutual need arose, "Should I give her moon tea?"

The old man hesitated, then said, "Ask my son."

(******)

"Glynnia, I'm going to marry you." the soldier told her.

"No." she said and shrunk back, waiting to be hit.

"Glynnia, nothing will change. I won't force you, I swear it. But this is the only way I know to protect you."

She said nothing else, closed her eyes to keep back the tears, and nodded. A Septon came the next day and it was done.

Her husband did not touch her, but moved her into a nice bedroom by his, with a big fireplace and locks on all the window shutters.

She did not understand that she was pregnant until six months along. Her wounded mind had not allowed her to comprehend, and when it finally did, she panicked. She asked the seamstress for help, and was told it was too late. The seamstress rattled on - _she was a married woman now and should oblige her husband, who was so good to her. Here he was, not letting her child be a bastard and raising her up from a seamstress to the lady of the house. He could have had another banner man's daughter with a little dowry. The old man was not happy about this match, didn't she know? Not one bit, he always thought his son was too smart to get carried away over a pretty face. She was pretty, far prettier than any girl in these parts. Good looks only went so far, and lasted so long, so give him a few sons and then get old and fat and ugly like the rest of us. _

Piety spent the last month of her confinement in bed, too big to move. She thought she'd die when the baby finally came. It was a boy. She hated the sight of him.

"What do we name him?" her husband asked, as if that question meant anything to her.

"Violence." she whispered.

"Gregor would be better. Rest now."

She would not touch the baby, but her husband expected as much and had found a wet nurse.

"Tis a sad spell", the womenfolk said. She was such a sad girl to start, it was expected and no one judged her harshly. She sewed baby swaddling, not because she wanted to but because the old seamstress reminded her that such things were needed in the house now.

Her husband was happy with the boy. Her father-in-law was thrilled. He'd been suspicious, wondering how many men had pushed that girl into the dirt before his son found her. But the baby looked just like his son at that age, only bigger and stronger.

"Biggest baby ever born in Westerlands. Only a Clegane could make a boy like that." the old man crowed

Winter came.

Piety took on the role of lady of the house a bit more each day. She knew how to run a household much bigger than this, so she trained the cooks properly and arranged meals, kept the place clean and the servants in line. She made poultices and preserves better than anyone. She asked her husband to buy quality cloth and saw to it that the he and his men were better dressed. Her grateful husband surprised her with even finer cloth, to make herself dresses. He rightly guessed her favorite color, yellow. She still sewed and embroidered for pleasure at night, alone in her room.

Her husband never touched her. They talked pleasantly every evening at dinner, about the events of the day and the work to be done tomorrow. He always asked for her opinion, and valued her advice.

Three years passed. The baby grew huge and horrible. Piety hated him. She thought that a monster had been in the soldier that night, the last night of Castamere. She had never seen her husband that way since. The monster was gone from him, she reckoned, but only because he put it in her body.

Her husband had to go away to war. She asked him not to go, which surprised them both. But he had to refuse her request. Tywin Lannister was the Hand of the King, now, and had a duty to keep those Iron Islanders in line. Lord Tywin called on Lannister banner men first. It was the most dangerous place to be, but with the richest rewards should they succeed. Her husband was gone six months.

He came back with all of his men save one who died of seasickness. He said it had been too easy. Those Ironborn were saving themselves for something bigger and Tywin Lannister agreed with him. He came back with a nice pile of gold for his efforts. He and his men had looted iron-forged weapons and tools, armor, and a harp, of all things. Piety used to play the harp in her old life. She looked at her husband and wondered if he guessed. She realized she told him next to nothing about herself over the years, but he had a way of guessing right. She waited until the other men had cleared out after the celebration dinner before she approached the instrument. She sat down and played it as if she was in her father's parlor. The memory of music was so pleasant to her.

Her father-in-law, who had finally come around to appreciate her in the half-year his son was gone, was amazed. Even the monstrous little boy settled down and listen, falling asleep on his father's lap.

When the evening grew late, her husband carried the sleeping boy to his room, for Gregor had grown too big for his nursemaid to carry. Then he walked with his quiet wife to their own doors. Piety surprised him by walking into his room.

"It is not that your brought back a harp, though it pleases me." she said. "It is that you brought yourself back. I worried about you so much that I prayed for you. I missed you. I want to...forgive you and...and...truly share my life with you."

She kissed him - the first time they touched since he brought her to his home.

"Thank you." her husband sighed like a prisoner freed from a collar and chain. "If I only had the forgiveness, that would be enough."

She spent the night with him, and all the nights thereafter.

Ten months later, she had a baby girl.

"I want to call her Grace, for we have found grace between us." she said, feeling like a woman, a wife, and a mother for the first time.

"Grace is not a name. Only a Reyne would call a child Grace. I am sorry, but we will never be that safe."

'We'... he used that term for their secret, as much his as hers. He had risked his life every minute of every day by keeping her. It was his penance for having wronged her - until she forgave him, and then he did it out of love for her.

"What can we name her, then?" she asked without complaint.

"I am expected to ask Tywin Lannister for permission to name her Lanna. A passel of babies have been born to us men returned from the Iron Islands, and it is the fashionable name for a banner man's daughter."

"That is what you must do?"

"It is. Anything else would be suspect, maybe an insult."

She nodded in understanding. "I hope he turns you down."

Tywin did not. The girl was Lanna, but Grace in their hearts, the child of forgiveness and love.

Her husband had hoped that the newfound joy of motherhood would help Piety begin to love Gregor. It did not, but still Gregor thrived. His grandfather spoiled him, doted on him. Her husband was not so blind, but still he loved the boy, and managed him well enough. He tried to teach Gregor the value of things in terms his dark mind could understand.

"Don't kick the dog. If you make him lame or too timid, he will not serve you well."

(*****)

It was spring, and Piety's husband had gone into the mountains with his father and five-year-old Gregor and some men to hunt wolves. The Clegane men liked to hunt, and the small folk liked that the landowner kept the wolf packs in check, protecting the new lambs and calves.

When they returned to Clegane Keep after a fortnight, laden with furs, Piety rushed to greet them.

"You should not leave me alone so long." she scolded her husband. By the Gods, she had missed him. She sent the servants scurrying to draw hot baths for the men and prepare a welcome feast.

When dinner was over, and the guests and children put to bed, Piety and her husband retreated to their room.

"I have something to show you." she said. "A merchant came through, and I bought a few things that we needed."

Her husband was pleased. He had left her coin to run the household while he was gone, and more coin in case of unforeseen trouble, and yet more coin in case she had opportunity to buy herself something pretty.

He imagined she'd bought herself dresses, but instead she surprised him with a stack of books upon her winter clothing chest.

She had an atlas, a star map, children's primers for different ages, a dictionary, two books on the history of Westeros, a richly illustrated book of knightly adventures, a bestiary of Essos, a gospel of the Stranger, and many small books with colorful woodblock printed pages, no doubt for Lanna Grace.

"This is the start of the library of House Clegane."

He laughed, "More pictures than words here, woman. Not a lot of faith in your men folk."

He opened one of the little books, "Valyrian, is it? Once upon a time..." he tapped the page, "I can sound that much out."

"Yes, how did you...?" and she stopped. Many knights did not know Valyrian these days. She did not think that a man of humble birth such as her husband would have been taught the language, but she was ashamed to assume so casually.

"My grandmother spoke Valeryan. Taught it to Father and then to me when I was small. I stopped speaking it altogether when I squired. My accent was so bad, I was ashamed to try it again in front of learned folk. Not what you'd call high Valyrian, I am sure. You speak it well?"

"I do."

"Then you should talk to my father with it. He would be pleased to hear his mother's tongue. You always find new ways to please him."

"Maybe some of his mother's favorite fairy tales are in these books." she smiled.

"Doubt it. She couldn't read, so her stories weren't from books... and slaves have different fairy tales than other folk."

Piety looked at her husband with her big golden eyes.

"My grandmother was a slave, a brown-skinned Ghiscari." he looked her square in the eyes. Six years and two children, and he was just starting to talk to her about who he was. Piety realized that he had been even slower to share himself than she had been. She hadn't even been trying to guess at his heart, yet he always guessed at hers before she opened it up to him.

"What was she like?" Piety asked, meeting his stare.

"Tough as boiled leather, except with Father and me. Cooked us up food so spicy, it'd peel your tongue. I think she was pretty back in the day, but it did her no good so she didn't miss her looks when she got old. Oh, how she hated winter. Hated the cold, and all that white."

"What did she like, besides you and your father and spicy food?"

"Dogs. Summer while it lasted. Dornish wine when we could get it."

"Tell me one of her fairy tales."

"They're slave stories. You won't like them."

"But I want to hear it."

"All right. Do you want it in common tongue or Valyrian? If I use the second, you can judge how bad my accent is."

"Valyrian, please."

_Once upon a time, there was a slave girl in Astapor. Not long after her red flower first bloomed, her Master made her with child. She birthed a strong boy that she loved. Her mistress also had a boy soon after, but he was not as strong and handsome as the slave's child. Mistress was jealous of the slave girl, because she was pretty and the Master always picked her bed before his wife's._

_One day, the Mistress told the slave girl to go to market and fetch honey. The slave girl cried, "Please, Mistress, the Unsullied are in the market today."_

"Unsullied?" Piety asked.

"The story will explain." he promised.

_"Go." ordered Mistress. The slave girl begged to leave her son at home, but the mistress said 'no', the slave baby would cry for his mother, and wake the Mistress' baby. So the slave girl put her son in a covered basket and carried him to market as carefully as she could so that no one would see him. She gave him a piece of chicham to suck on so he would not cry._

"Chicham?"

"The root of a reed plant from the east. It was the sweetest thing a slave would have to eat." her husband explained.

_She had almost reached the honey trader when an Unsullied novice saw that the front of her shirt was wet with milk. He took the basket from her arms, and took out her son. The slave girl begged the novice not to do it, to spare her son and find another, but he had trained his whole life to be Unsullied, and he could only be true Unsullied if he was blooded. Unsullied don't blood by killing a fox, or a bear, or a man. They are only blooded by killing a baby. It must be a slave baby, of course, and they must pay for it, but slave babies come cheap in Astapor. The novice cut her son's throat and made the mark on himself like his Masters told him. He gave her a silver coin and said, "This is for your Mistress." _

_The slave girl took her dead baby home and laid him before the Mistress, and gave her the silver coin. Mistress slapped the girl and said, "You forgot my honey."_

_The slave girl said, "Yes, Mistress." and left the house, but she did not go far. She crept back inside through a window, took Mistress' sleeping baby, and put it in the sling that once carried her own beloved son. She went back to the market and bought honey and waited in the center of the square. Soon another novice came to her. She did not beg, but handed the baby over. The novice became Unsullied when he cut the child's throat, made the mark on himself and handed her a silver coin, "For your Mistress."_

_The slave girl threw the dead baby in the harbor, so that Mistress would have nothing to bury. She knew the Master and Mistress would have to bury her child with honor and prayers, to hide the great shame that their own child's body was lost. She crept back into the house and left the honey and the second silver coin in the free-born child's cradle for his mother to find._

Piety was crying.

"I told you, you would not like it."

"I don't like it. Don't ever tell it to our children."

"I won't." he promised.

"I am glad you told me. Now I know."

"Know what?"

"Know where your anger comes from."

"Aye, some of it." he looked down.

"What happened to her?"

"To who?"

"The slave girl, afterwards?"

"It's a fairy tale, not a real girl." he assured her, "Nothing more to tell."

He hated to see her cry. Not when she was smiling every day now, happy to be alive. Happy with him, maybe, or at least he liked to think so. She did not need to hear the rest of the story.

_The slave girl ran back to the harbor and looked at the ships about to sail for far away lands. One ship was loading pretty dogs to cross the Narrow Sea. The slave girl had a way with dogs._

_She walked boldly up to the ship's Captain and said, "My Master sends me as a gift, to tend the dogs for their new master." The Captain knew he should not believe the girl and should send a message to the kennel man. But the girl was young and pretty. This would be a very long sea journey. It would not seem so long with her in his bed. So he took the slave girl and the hounds to Lannisport. _

(******)

Two years after the birth of Grace, they had another baby. This one was big, a boy, and another difficult birth. He looked like the first son, but Piety only saw her husband in him, and loved this child.

"Truth?" she asked, reminded of something else she and husband had come to cherish between them.

Her husband smiled and shook his head, "Sandor."

She hated how Violence looked at Truth, like a snake looks at a nest of baby rabbits.

"A younger brother is a blessing, Gregor." her husband explained. "He will be loyal to you, will obey you and will fight for you when he is old enough. Be patient."

Little Grace showered the baby in kisses. She was a Reyne in every way.

(*****)

When Sandor was four, and Lanna Grace six, they stood the same height. Piety and her husband called them twins. The younger children adored each other. When they were not together, Lanna Grace tagged along after her mother, learning to cook and read and sew. Sandor shadowed his father, played with the hounds and rode his pony without help. The younger children shared a room and were kept away from Gregor as much as possible. Children of the servants and soldiers were not so lucky. None dared complain to the old man, who managed Gregor's education and training for knighthood. But they came to Piety, and she told her husband. Gregor was as strong as a grown man now, she explained. He was becoming too dangerous to play with other children.

Her husband kept the servants out of the family quarters at night and for most parts of the day, to keep temptation away from Gregor.

(****)

Sandor lay awake in bed, listening. Mother was screaming at Father in the next room. She was so gentle, she never raised her voice before, certainly not to Father. His parents always had soft words and kind looks for each other.

Sandor wanted to creep into Sister's bed like he did when he had a bad dream, but she was gone. All the bedding was stripped, the mattress taken, even her favorite toy dog was gone. Sandor clutched his own dog. Their mother had sewn them each one out of black velvet. Gregor's dog was long ago cast aside in a trunk. It had a silver belly like armor. Sister's dog had a pink belly, and Sandor's was yellow.

"Three black dogs," Father used to smile at them, "like the banner of Clegane."

Gregor used to look at their sister playing with her toy dog and mumble '_bitch'_, sidle up to her and ask if she would show him the pink part beneath. But he wasn't talking about the dog.

(****)

Mother woke him, put on his boots and grabbed a change of clothes.

Sandor was half asleep, stumbling to the stables, where Mother put him on his pony.

They were almost out the gate when Father ran up to them.

"No! Not with my son!" and pulled Sandor out of the saddle.

"You would have him stay here? After what happened to Grace?"

"He is my son." Father said helplessly, and Sandor did not know if they were still talking about him.

"If Truth stays, he will become Violence, or he will become Grace. Either way, he will be dead to me."

"Please stay, Piety. Stay with me." Father begged, the first and last time he used her true name. He would not stop her, even though he could. He kept his word to never force her, ever again.

"I forgave you because I never saw the monster in you again. But you kept it close, didn't you? You would not end it when you had the chance. Did you think you would become its master? That it would serve you like a dog? It is not a dog. It is not even human, and it owns you."

Mother turned around, numb, and walked away though the gates of the Keep.

Sandor called after her, but she never looked back.


End file.
